


Silly Holiday

by ivyscribbles (all_choseny)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, gallya relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_choseny/pseuds/ivyscribbles
Summary: Illya didn’t know what to say. Not only had he forgotten it was Valentine’s Day, it was a holiday that he never celebrated before. He didn’t even know that Gaby cared about the non-holiday. He didn’t need a special day to give her flowers and candy. He’d give her flowers and candy every day if she wanted them. Illya turned toward Solo. He was staring at Illya with one brow raised in question. Illya made a hopeless gesture with his head. By the look on Gaby’s face, he knew that he’d gotten himself into hot water.





	Silly Holiday

Love was in the air. 

The city was covered in pink. Pink flowers appeared in the windows of quaint little flower shops. Delicate roses with dainty baby’s breath sat on a dozen desks in office typing pools. All gifts from husbands, fiancés, and even the occasional secret admirer. Men with carts stood on street corners with promises of last-minute trinkets at bargain prices.

Illya was oblivious to it all. His mind was on the dozens of cases that continued to pile on his desk. It was busy work until Waverly assigned them another big one. He was grateful for the reprieve, but he missed the action. Illya wasn’t suited for desk work. He didn’t have the temperament. Although, he did enjoy interrogations. The KGB had a way of training all their agents with excellent “interviewing” skills. Waverly preferred other tactics, but he knew when to call upon Illya’s special set of skills. 

The office was quiet when he arrived. He’d manage to beat their secretary, Ms. Penn, an attractive brunette in her late twenties with remarkable organization skills. Illya was typically the first in the office (after Mrs. Penn of course) and the last to leave. _He_ took his work seriously, unlike Cowboy who treated everything like a game. Gaby was a competent agent, and he wasn’t just saying that because they were in a relationship. Since Cuba she’d become a rather good marksman. Their late-night training sessions had given her confidence behind a gun. The corners of Illya’s lips lifted into a slight smile at the memory of the last training session. She hit nearly all her targets. The better she became with a gun, the less he had to worry about her. Not that Illya needed to worry much. Gaby was a strong-willed woman who drove him crazy most of the time. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Morning, Agent Kuryakin.” Gaby greeted him with a secret smile as she settled down at her desk across from his. 

“Good morning, Agent Teller. I hope you slept well,” he responded in kind. 

It was a game they enjoyed playing with each other. Everyone in the office knew they were an item, but they often greeted each other formally for the sake of appearance. Fraternizing with other U.N.C.L.E. agents wasn’t against the rules; it was just frowned upon. 

“Like a rock,” she said with a sly smile. “I’m going to make some coffee, would you like some?” 

“Yes. Black.” 

Gaby paused at the door. “Maybe I’ll have a surprise when I return.” 

Illya looked up from the file he’d been reading and frowned. What was she going on about? More work? Did she want to take some of the load off him? “Uh, yes, maybe,” he said because he didn’t know how else to respond. Women were so confusing sometimes.  
While Gaby was busy making their coffee, Illya got to work painstakingly taking notes on his last solo mission. He carefully wrote each word in meticulous penmanship on a separate notepad. He would later convert it to a typed report. A step that Solo often criticized as being unnecessary. They each had their quirks. Illya was the thorough one of the trio. 

“Good Morning, Ms. Penn,” Napoleon's voice boomed from the reception area where he stopped to greet their secretary. 

“Morning, Agent Solo. My what pretty flowers you have. Are they for anyone special?” Ms. Penn said, playing coy. 

Napoleon flashed her a flirty smile and placed a glass vase of pink roses on her desk. “Yes, yes they are.” Solo took Ms. Penn’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

Their secretary swooned and pulled her hand back, caressing the spot where Solo had kissed her. “You flatter.” 

Solo eased himself on the edge of Ms. Penn desks and stared directly into her green eyes. “It’s only flattery if it isn’t true. If you ever decide to kick that fiancé of yours to the curb…” 

Ms. Penn let out a girlish giggle and swatted Solo away. This too was another office game. Everyone knew that Ms. Penn was hot and heavy with some government official at the Embassy. They all met the stuffy Brit who occasionally stopped by to whisk Ms. Penn away to lunch. Illya assumed that Solo flirted with her the way he did because he knew it would never go anywhere. Ms. Penn was in a committed relationship and Solo was still… Solo, known philanderer. 

“Well, I could always give him a ring and break things off.” 

Solo took Ms. Penn’s hand again and brought it to his heart. “Oh, no, don’t break his heart over the phone. These things must be done in person. Give it some more thought, he seems like a good guy.” 

“Well, maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t be too hasty. It is Valentines day after all.” 

“Exactly. I’ve never heard of someone breaking off an engagement on the most romantic day of the year.” 

Ms. Penn laughed again. “You know, agent Solo, maybe it’s time for you to settle down. I have a friend…” 

Solo shook his head. “Blind dates have never gone well for me, Ms. Penn. Besides I’m still holding out for someone special,” he said with a wink and stood from his perch on her desk. 

“Maybe one day…” She said to his retreating back. 

“Flirting with the secretary again, Cowboy,” Illya sniffed.

Napoleon smirked and carefully laid his briefcase on top of his bare desk. “It’s all in good fun, Peril. You should try it sometime.” 

“I have fun,” Illya scoffed. Of course, he had fun. Just the other day he practiced his archery skills, breaking his previous record. He also had fondue with Gaby. 

“Practicing Soviet spy codes does _not_ count as fun.” 

Napoleon placed a small vase with a single daisy on Illya’s desk. “Happy Valentines day, Peril.” 

Illya eyed the floor and rolled his eyes. “In Russia we do not celebrate frivolous holiday.”

“Yes. I’m learning there’s a lot Russians don’t do in Russia,” Solo said knowingly. 

Illya watched in silence as Solo placed a box of those Bon-Bon chocolates Gaby liked so much on her desk. His partner straightened the picture of the three of them Gaby had on her desk before returning to his side of the room. Illya’s eyes focused on the chocolates for several moments. He didn’t notice when Gaby walked into the office holding two cups of coffee. She placed the steaming cup on Illya’s desk and touched a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Morning, Gaby,” Solo said cheerfully. 

“Morning, Solo. I see you an Illya are at it early today.” 

Napoleon shrugged and whipped his morning paper in front of his face. Gaby took a quick sip of her coffee and headed toward her desk. Solo looked over the corner of his paper and watched the slow smile spread on Gaby’s face once she noticed the chocolates. She picked up the heart-shaped box and read the note. Her brow creased into a small frown. Gaby looked between Illya and Solo before sitting in her seat with a small huff. 

Illya didn’t know what to say. Not only had he forgotten it was Valentine’s Day, it was a holiday that he never celebrated before. He didn’t even know that Gaby cared about the non-holiday. He didn’t need a special day to give her flowers and candy. He’d give her flowers and candy every day if she wanted them. Illya turned toward Solo. He was staring at Illya with one brow raised in question. Illya made a hopeless gesture with his head. By the look on Gaby’s face, he knew that he’d gotten himself into hot water. 

_What do I do?_ he mouthed to his partner. 

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading his paper. Illya glanced over at Gaby again. She avoided his eye contact and focused on the pile of paperwork in front of her. Illya stood up from his desk. There had to be something he could do to fix this. Solo followed Illya out of the office. 

“I take it you forgot Valentine’s day,” Solo said. Illya nodded curtly. 

“So much for frivolous holidays. A little advice, Peril, don’t forget Valentine’s day.” 

“I see.” 

Napoleon peeked back into the office where Gaby was sulkily typing one of her reports. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at Illya. “She is definitely upset.” 

“What do I do?” 

“Well, you’ll need to make it up to her. You may not have anticipated her wanting a gift today, but it’s clear she was expecting it.” 

“Fine. I will get her flowers. Women love flowers.” 

Solo made a face. “That might have worked if you’d remembered in the first place. Now it’ll seem like a cheap cop-out. You’ll need to go bigger. Much bigger.” Illya was at a loss and it showed on his face. 

Solo sighed and shook his head again. “I made a reservation this evening at Bartholomew’s." Napoleon named one of the swankiest restaurants in the city. It seems like you need it more than I do.” 

“What about your plans?” 

Solo smirked. “Trust me. I hadn’t planned on staying very long. Bart’s has excellent take out service.” 

Illya stared at his partner for a moment with a hint of disgust on his face. “Thank you,” he muttered. 

“Thank me later. There’s a guy on the corner selling flowers. You might want to try him first and then tell Gaby you have reservations at Bart’s. That should impress her.” 

Illya let out a relieved sigh. 

++++

Once Illya presented Gaby with a dozen roses, she softened up to him for the remainder of the day. He hated to admit it, but Solo had been right about the reservation. Gaby’s eyes lit up like two Christmas trees when he told her the name of the restaurant. 

“I almost thought you forgot,” Gaby said as they rode in the back of taxi together. 

Illya’s lips tilted into a nervous smile. “I hope you like this  
restaurant,” he said, avoiding her statement. He had forgotten and all day a sense of shame had hung heavily over his head. 

Gaby shrugged. She’d always been a no-frills kind of woman. It took a lot to impress her. “I’m surprised you picked it. It’s more Solo’s speed.” 

Illya’s face colored and he looked out the window then back at Gaby again. “Cowboy recommend it. I don’t usually trust his taste… but he is okay with food.”

“That’s true,” Gaby agreed. 

The restaurant was crowded with couples of all ages out to celebrate what Illya considered a nonsense holiday. He waited in line to confirm their reservation with the maître d’. “Two for Solo,” he said stiffly to the host. 

The man ran along wiry finger down a list of names until he located Napoleon’s reservation. “Ah, here you are, Mr. Solo.” 

Illya’s face colored with embarrassment. He cast a quick glance in Gaby’s direction hoping she hadn’t heard the man refer to _him_ as Cowboy. Illya cleared his throat and straightened his bowtie. He beckoned the man to lean a little closer so they could speak intimately. “Is there any way you can change reservation to Kuryakin?” 

The maître d’ lifted his brow in question. “I’m afraid not, sir. If you aren’t Napoleon Solo, I suggest you wait in line with the rest.” He motioned to the thick crowd of hopeful diners who had not made a reservation. 

“No, no, I’m Cow-Solo,” he choked out. “I prefer my professional name.”

The maître d’ looked Illya over with a suspicious eye. Illya was sure that he’d come across many guests who attempted to sneak inside without a reservation. It suddenly occurred to him that his request made it seem like he was one of _those_ people. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he sniffed. The man waved over another member of the staff and whispered something in his ear. “You can wait over there until you're called.” 

Illya thanked him and headed back to where Gaby stood waiting for him. “What was that all about?” she asked. 

“Nothing. I want this night to be perfect.” 

Gaby tilted her head up and smiled warmly at him. “You’re feeding me. It’s already off to a good start.” 

A wave of relief washed over Illya. He knew he almost blew it earlier. He wrapped his arm around Gaby’s tiny waist and waited for his “name” to be called. A few minutes later the maître d’ approached them, a thin-lipped smile plastered on his face. 

“Mr. Solo.” he spoke in his most crusty British accent. 

“Yes.” An uneasy feeling settled over him. “You have table?” 

“Mmmm. It’s important that we give all our dinner guests at Bartholomew’s an experience they will never forget. I took the opportunity to call the number listed with your reservation.” The maître d’ paused. “And to my surprise you picked up your phone and you were American and certainly not standing two feet away.” 

“That’s because he’s not—” Gaby began. 

“I can explain,” Illya said. 

“You can explain out the door. You and your friend. These reservations are for guests.” 

Gaby looked up at Illya, perplexed. “What is he talking about?” 

Illya closed his eyes for a moment. This was not going as planned. “Let’s go,” he said curtly and ushered Gaby out of the restaurant before they could get tossed on the street. 

“What is going on?” Gaby asked again once they were outside. 

Illya stared at the passing cars for a moment as he tried to formulate his response. The night was already ruined, it was time to fess up. “It was Cowboy’s reservation,” he confessed. “I’m sorry, Gaby. I am horrible boyfriend.” 

Gaby shook her head. “It’s okay. We can just go back to my place. I can cook.” 

She seemed fine, but Illya could tell that Gaby was disappointed. He felt terrible. “No. This is holiday,” he said firmly. 

Illya flagged down another cab and rattled off the address. He was going to give Gaby a good time. This was their first Valentine’s Day as a couple, it needed to be special. He stole a glance at Gaby. She was staring distantly out the window. All he wanted to do was make her happy. 

“This is our training facility,” Gaby said confused once the cab stopped. 

“I know.” 

Illya paid the cabbie his fair and helped Gaby out of the cab. They were silent as they entered the building together. 

“What are we doing here?” 

Illya gave her a slight smile and pressed the down button. He stole a furtive glance at Gaby as the rode down together. She looked at him curiously but remained silent. A few weeks ago, she mentioned wanting to learn more hand to hand fighting skills. Illya had meant to start training her after their last mission. Things had gotten a little more physical and he realized that she needed to learn how to fight. 

“We fight,” he said finally answering her question. 

Gaby looked down at her dress. “In this?” 

Illya loosened his bow tie and let it fall to the floor next to his sports coat. “Why not?” He spoke as he pulled off his shoes and socks.  
Gaby looked around the training room before her eyes locked with his again. She slipped off her shoes and peeled her pantyhose down. A few seconds later, she joined Illya at the center of the mat. 

“Okay. What do we do?” 

He moved closer to Gaby and placed his hands at her waist. “Put your left foot here,” he instructed her. Gaby complied and placed her foot where Illya directed her. 

“Good, good.” He put his hand on her thigh and moved her right leg up a few inches. “Now hold your fist like this.” He showed her how to hold her hands and smiled satisfied when Gaby mirrored his stance. 

For the next hour, Illya showed Gaby several defensive moves and attacks. She was a quick learner. He was proud when her small fist caught him by surprise and clocked him in the center of his face. Illya staggered back and blinked his eyes several times. 

“Good hit. Next time try harder.” 

Gaby’s set her jaw firmly. She gave Illya a curt nod and they began to fight again. Illya noticed she was more determined this second time around. Her hits were more precise, they connected firmly with his torso and face. 

“Good girl,” he smirked when she clipped him on the jaw again. 

Illya circled her and Gaby smiled at him, ready for whatever he had coming her way. They fought again. This time he wrapped his arm around her waist from the back, his arm circled her throat and gave her a light squeeze. Gaby dug her elbow into his stomach, but Illya didn’t budge. Gaby struggled against him at first until she seemed to remember something he had taught her. In one swift movement, Gaby twisted her body and used the force of Illya’s movements to flip him onto the mat. He landed with a hard thud on his back. Gaby scrambled on top of him and placed her forearm at his throat. 

“You’re dead,” she said with a proud smirk. 

Illya looked up at her. His lips curved into a smile. Her cheeks were flushed with happiness. Their failed date was nothing more but a distant memory after her triumphant victory. “Happy Valentine’s day, Gaby.” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Illya,” Gaby repeated and leaned down to kiss him on the lips.


End file.
